That’s why I keep my tone gentle. There’s plenty of time for him to meet the sadist later, but not right now. “Just say it, boy. Nothing you say or ask of me should embarrass you. Judgment-free zone.”
His face turns an adorable shade of red. “I…sweat.”
“Oookaay? I think most people sweat.”
The pink deepens. “You’re going to want a towel before you take it off me. Or I can go take it off in the bathroom, if you’d prefer.”
Now I’m tracking. I climb up the bed and kiss him until I feel him once again starting to melt and he reaches for me.
“You stay right here. Don’t you dare move.” I’m up and off the bed before he can object. I grab a clean towel, dampen a washcloth with warm water, and return to find him watching me.
Then I kneel in front of him and set the washcloth and towel next to me. Before he can object again, I hook my fingers in the waistband of his slacks and briefs and start tugging. Once they’re off and expose him completely, I look up into his face to find his cheeks are still beet red.
“Watchme,” I gently say. “Eyes onme. Tell me what I need to do.”
He talks me through rolling down the outer sleeve that holds his prosthesis on. I immediately grok what he means about sweating. It was a warm day today, and after our walk here, and a three-flight climb, he’s a little damp. I use the washcloth to swab his thigh and the inside of the sleeve, and dry both with the towel. Once I have his leg off and set aside, I remove the two limb socks he’s wearing over the liner that protects his leg.
“The liner comes off my stump the same way,” he says. “Just roll it down inside out. Then I wash and dry it.”
“Is it okay for me to call it your stump?”
He finally looks amused. “I mean, yeah. That’s what it is. But thank you for asking. Some amputees don’t like that term. I personally don’t care.”
Once I’m down to bare leg, I kneel in front of him again and kiss my way up his inner thighs. His cock has gone limp and twitches some the higher I go.
I stare up at him. “We’re going to take a shower together, and you’re going to let me take care of you this weekend.” He shivers again and damned if that isn’t fucking erotic and sexy and twisting my heart into knots over him. “All right, boy?”
He nods. “Yes, Sir.”
“I take it you haven’t been with someone since you were injured?”
“No, Sir. You’re the first to help me with Duck. I mean, besides when I get fitted for it. A new one. I mean, this isn’t my first one. I mean…” He takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to force his brain to comply with my demands. “No, I haven’t been with anyone.”
I keep eye contact with him as I lightly run my fingers up and down his left leg, over the knee, over his shin and calf, what are left of them. “Duck?”
“Yeah. That’s what I call my leg. I’ve got another one, a blade, for running and stuff.”
“Why do you call it Duck?”
He smirks, and that’s when I’m absolutely certain I’m in love. “Because I didn’t.”
* * * *
I spend the next twenty minutes or so convincing him that, yes, I’m fine with his body. That I’m not freaked out, I’m not disgusted, I’m not filled with pity or loathing or anything other than lust.
Because he’s a hot guy who just happens to be missing a foot. Big fucking deal.
I mean, itisa big fucking deal,obviously. It was a life-shattering experience for him.
Forme, the fact that Elliot’s missing a foot only matters in the logistical context of making sure I don’t do something to make his life more difficult, or inadvertently trigger him in some way.
Turns out the easiest way to convince Elliot of this is by licking and kissing him all over, to the point he’s too distracted and horny to feel self-conscious.
He’s hard again, so yay, my cunning plan works.
I roll him over onto his front so I can rub and kiss his back and tentatively start nipping his ass, the backs of his arms and shoulders, and the back of his right thigh. For obvious reasons I don’t want to mark or risk injuring his left leg where he wears the liner and where the sleeve rides on his thigh.
Turns out he enjoys being bit.
